I couldn't explain it. I was completely confused.
If I'd have had a bit more time to think it over I might have been able to figure it out. But it wasn't until this cop brought Panda down to my dressing room that I found out just what had happened.
"Freddy," this cop said, sticking his head in, "there's a young babe with striped hair out here. This young babe is a very excited young babe. She says she has to see you."
Panda pushed her way in before I could answer. Her face was almost as white as that distinctive streak in her hair.
"Freddy," she squealed, "are you all right?"
I was getting fed up with that question. It just wasn't normal for people to keep asking it. "Of course I'm all right," I snapped.
"But, Freddy," she wailed, "he might have killed you!"
I had to laugh. "You mean Arnie?" I snickered. "Why Arnie wouldn't hurt a fly. Besides, it's against the rules for clean-cut American kids to wrestle rough."
"I mean Dr. MacCluett," she squalled. "That was a very dangerous operation he performed on you. He might have done an irreparable injury to your poor little brain."
In all my life I had never heard such a silly statement.